


The Scents of Being & Flowers for the Grave

by mewsomniac



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Extended Metaphors, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, M/M, OTP Feels, Organization XIII (Kingdom Hearts), Post-Kingdom Hearts Chain of Memories, Post-Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance, Post-Kingdom Hearts III, Pre-Kingdom Hearts 358/2 Days, Pre-Kingdom Hearts Chain of Memories, Romance, Shounen-ai, Tragedy, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 09:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewsomniac/pseuds/mewsomniac
Summary: Looking back, it’s hard to say exactly how things began. Perhaps it was an unconscious hazing at first, with Zexion technically being the youngest member and Marluxia being the newest at the time. It may have also simply been an off-chance, as they were the only two members available on short notice for that first mission.Either way, this unexpected connection is what ensured their partnership, friendship, and eventually... their tragic love.[Marluxia/Zexion fic. Takes place pre-358/2 Days until post-KHIII.]





	The Scents of Being & Flowers for the Grave

******The Scents of Being**

**&**

**Flowers for the Grave**

* * *

Looking back, it’s hard to say exactly how things began.

Perhaps it was an unconscious hazing at first, with Zexion technically being the youngest member and Marluxia being the newest at the time. It may have also simply been an off-chance, as they were the only two members available on short notice for that first mission.

Zexion had always keep to himself, taking on the role of delegator rather than participator. Though a veteran of The Organization with some ruthless means, he was still the most patient and inquisitive of all of them.

Number XI didn’t know this then, but they had both been on a very similar wavelength from the start. Marluxia had a cool-yet-deceptive temperament that left him unreadable on most occasions. His eyes drank up information while the gears in his head spun wildly. He, too, was full of plans and questions just as Zexion was.

This unexpected connection is what ensured their unofficial partnership. It also planted the seeds of their easygoing friendship.

On their missions together, Marluxia was less talkative than he was with the other Orginzation memebers. Number VI begrudgingly took it upon himself to instigate the conversation most times, only because his own observant nature demanded sustenance. What began at first as Zexion explaining the Organization's inner workings, would meld into idle-prattle, and occasionally into topics of interest.

Sometimes Zexion would be talking, usually explaining at length the complexity of something, when VI would notice Marluxia’s gaze.

The first time it happened, they were in Twilight Town; the sky was the color of marigolds, and the warm scent of sun-baked bricks was everywhere. Number XI was looking at Zexion with a kind of curiosity that left a rare smile on the taller man’s face. Zexion didn’t want to say it gave him “a feeling”, because as Nobodies they didn’t possess those. Still, he noticed Marluxia giving him that look, and trailed off.

“Don’t stop talking,” Marluxia said, words soft as rose petals, “I’m still listening.”

Of course, time ends all comforts. Their missions together came to an end once they were nominated to set up camp in Castle Oblivion.

For Zexion, living in there was a nightmare come to life.

It was clear that no living thing was welcome there. The run-down castle was a mess of too-bright walls, no sense of direction, and forgetfulness. To top it off, the place was riddled with rancid smells... 

Oh, how Zexion hated those smells. Why he was cursed with such a strong sense of smell in this nonlife was beyond him. Each day it haunted him like a wraith in the walls, looming near and striking when least expected.

Some smells he grew accustomed to, like the lingering aroma of bleach and stale air. When Axel appeared, he brought brimstone, whereas Larxene brought sulfur. Not only did the last two reek, they practically burned his nostrils upon inhalation.

The only scent that brought him any kind of comfort was Marluxia’s. Often, it was up to Zexion to carry messages back up to Number XI. Vexen could hardly stand the pink-haired Nobody’s presence, so he none-too-politely ordered Zexion to do it for him.

It was always a welcome change to portal from the basement up to HQ. Though it was bright as lily-white, it was strangely comforting when compared to the dank depths of the lower floors. The dense air of the ground floor was replaced by the familiar and subtle scent of roses wherever Marluxia may have lingered. Though he often caught the brimstone and sulfur—try as he might to avoid it—they were scents that never lasted terribly long.

It had become their routine: Zexion would portal up several times a day, and the Graceful Assassin would always greet him the same way.

“Hello, Number VI. More news?”

The only time he really interacted with XI was to bring news, but he still distantly wished the other Nobody would regard him less formally. They were excellent in battle together, had gotten along fine in the past, and knew one another well enough to breach formalities. He always looked forward to seeing Marluxia, but it always dismayed him when the taller Nobody would cross his arms and regard him without much thought.

At least… as dismayed as one can be without a heart.

So, he’d ignore the disappointment lingering in his chest, pass the information along, and leave—finding himself immediately longing for light and roses afterwards.

So this routine continued, each hour, practically on the hour. Each time, a little more of his hope was dashed away as Marluxia leered down at him from above. He wanted so badly to speak up, to start a conversation, to mention anything but work…

And yet, he’d take one look at Marluxia’s face and his wants were driven back into him like a stake: pinning them down into his throat and silencing him.

Eventually, the ache in his chest grew like a maw of discomfort any time he’d go to see Malruxia. It was more stubborn than spring pansies and was slowly cracking him open from the inside.

One day, when Vexen needed to relay a message, Zexion found himself hiding away, sheathed in shadows. Then once more the next time. And again… until it was clear that Vexen would have to carry the messages himself, or enlist Lexaeus’ help, if he hoped to communicate with Marluxia.

VI had gotten very good at perfectly avoiding Vexen by using his sense of smell to note the frustration lingering in the air and clouding up the lower floors. If the Chilly Academic dared to question him, Zexion would simply ignore it and change the subject. VI had just gotten used to his troublesome and perpetual stay in the basement when an unexpected visitor arrived.

It was strange. Zexion could have sworn the scent of roses reached his nose before the sound of a portal reached his ears.

A hand was on the wall, and Marluxia was leering down at him. Despite his cool countenance, it was clear Number XI was struggling to see. His pupils darted uncertainly amidst squinting eyes, searching for Zexion’s in the dark.

“You haven’t been up to see me,” Marluxia said curtly, “Why?”

Number IV could feel himself blanching and blushing all at once. The sudden proximity between him and Number XI sent a rocketing sensation through his chest, and he mentally stuffed it back inside. He didn’t think he’d ever have to justify himself to Marluxia of all people, and figured his lacking presence would go unnoticed.

“I was tired of being Vexen’s messenger. There’s a lot of important work I need to get done here, too.”

What Zexion didn’t know was that Marluxia had been a wreck since the first time Vexen delivered a message in Zexion’s stead. Each time Number IV did not appear for their frequent briefings, a strange stilted terror rose in him. It crawled like ivy all the way up the ceiling to pierce the clouds.

This unexplainable phenomenon rattling in his chest was driving him crazy. It hadn’t been long, but it seemed to span the length of a lifetime. Before Marluxia knew it, he was portaling all around the palace in a desperate search for the lilac-haired Nobody.

What Zexion didn’t know is that Marluxia didn’t have the words to say, I miss you.

Instead, he said, “I would like it very much if you were to resume our briefings. It’s…” He pulled his arm back, uncertain of the words. “It would be… nice to see you upstairs again.”

There was fluttering in the place where Number VI’s heart should be. Suddenly, he felt bravery sweep up in him like the scent of saltwater before a hurricane.

“Fine. But I will resume my duties on one condition,” He sucked in a breath to fight off the hesitation, “After our work has been discussed, let’s talk like we used to.”

Marluxia blinked. His eyes had already adjusted to the limited visibility, but he wasn’t sure if Zexion's certain expression was a trick of the dark. Smiling, he agreed.

It was an easy condition to meet as they both fell into it with ease. Every spare second, they talked endlessly about what they enjoyed from their lives as Somebodies. Zexion would gush about the books he’d read, and scientific experiments he helped conduct. Marluxia would talk about all the different kinds of plants he adored, and the proper way to take care of them. It seemed like after long enough, they would have run out of things to say to one another… and yet, they still managed to fill the air with words.

Even moments spent apart were full of thoughts about one another. The image of Zexion followed Number XI throughout the day: the way his face lit up and a rare smile would grace his features, like how a flower unfurls in the sun. Number VI was haunted by Marluxia’s visage: those azure eyes drank him up, but at the same time, that low voice drenched him. He wanted to run his fingers through that rosegold hair—to slide his digits through the tresses and…

What else?

Everything would feel hot, suddenly. His skin itched to be touched, but not just touched. Felt. Seen. Breathed—like the aroma of spring hanging on a breeze.

The maw that was once breaking him apart had become something different now. Less jagged, more soft, and full to bursting with warmth.

One day, Zexion stepped from the usual mass of blackness with something packaged in hand. He eagerly presented it to Marluxia, a slight tremor of nervousness in his voice.

“This is for you.”

Marluxia took it and gently stripped away the packaging. The book’s gold rimmed pages glittered in the whiteness of the room, and the ornate cover twisted a cord of remembrance somewhere deep inside of Number XI. It seemed like a relic of time long-passed, an ancient tome once forgotten. He traced his fingertips across the embossed letters in the cover: liber herbarim. He recognized these words somehow.

“Where did you find this?” Marluxia asked, awestruck.

“We’ve found many interesting antiques in the castle, including a whole library of old texts. This seems to be a copy of an especially ancient one… people haven’t used Latin in centuries. It was the only Herbiary in the entire collection.”

Number XI’s flicked up to him. “A… ‘herbiary,’ you say?”

Zexion shrugged, “For lack of a better term, yes. Though I’m not so certain anyone here understands Latin, the illustrations are quite lovely.”

Everything inside Marluxia felt warm and full as he smiled.

“Thank you.” He moved to place it gingerly on a nearby table, smoothing a loving palm across it.

Seeing this made it especially difficult for Zexion to not smile. He ducked his face away, moving back across the room to open a portal and leave. Then, he felt Marluxia’s hand on his shoulder. Breath held tight, he watched the ethereal petals melt into the air around him.

“I would like it very much,” There was just the hint of trembling in Marluxia’s voice now, “If you let me kiss you.”

Zexion felt a thud in his chest, as if someone dropped a pile of books inside of it. He swallowed, suddenly very aware of the odor of nervous sweat, before turning to face Number XI.

“I, too, would like that very much.”

Then, graceful as always, Marluxia leaned down. Zexion let his eyes drift closed, and welcomed the static of Marluxia’s lips as they met his. Their kiss was as sweet and comforting as the scent of honey in a cup of tea.

Because Nobodies were bodies, it could mean that chemical compounds were still swishing around their brains and tricking them into having the ghosts of feelings. Perhaps it was akin to the sensation of limbs that were once severed.

Still… in that moment, Zexion knew he was feeling everything.

Fingers danced through his periwinkle tresses, and his own hands drifted across Marluxia’s chest toward the taller man’s shoulders to tangle in pink locks. Each new kiss came with a greater sense of urgency and gentleness all at the same time.

That was the first time Zexion thought I don’t ever want to leave this place. 

This confusing castle he’d come to loathe, all at once, had become his safe haven.

Soon, days of kisses and sweet nothings turned into nights twisted up in sheets. After all, even their bodies had needs on occasion.

They’d lay in the stillness of the makeshift room, with steadily-fading aromas of passion hanging in the air. Though none of the rooms in the castle had windows, they could picture the moon as a blooming carnation suspended in the velvet night.

Even like this, they talked. By this point, they could talk nonstop for hours and still find each other’s voices soothing.

“The fact that we are here right now means that our nonexistence is a misnomer.” Zexion chattered one night, “The fact that I am absorbing the spectrum of light that makes you up with my eyes is proof enough.” Zexion had never fully subscribed to the Nobody jargon. He found it quite illogical based on his own scientific frame of reference.

“This is true,” Marluxia responded, smoothing his fingers across Zexion’s skin, “But perhaps it’s not our nonexistence that’s the issue. Perhaps it’s the fact we were never meant to exist.”

For once, Marluxia hadn’t been looking at Zexion as he spoke. He’d been looking off into the distance, as if searching for something in the dark. It was the way a daisy turns to face the sun for warmth.

Zexion asked, “What’s wrong?”

After a solemn pause, Marluxia said, “...when this is all over, when I’m a Somebody again, I’d like to plant a rose garden.”

“Roses? Not petunias or pansies?” Zexion chided sarcastically, “I never would have guessed.”

Number XI looked down at his lover with a softness he didn’t know he had. The wry smile on VI’s face, the touch of their skin in the dark, the soft breath before a long kiss, how the smaller man fit so perfectly into his arms…

There was one thing that Marluxia wanted to tell Zexion more than anything else, but he didn’t have the words for I love you .

Instead, he bent close and whispered with ferocity: “Zexion, I’m staging a coup.”

To say Number VI was mortified would be an understatement. It must have been showing very blatantly on his face, too, because Marluxia quickly explained himself. The Graceful Assassin was a sight to see: eager countenance, hands gesturing wildly for emphasis, and somehow managing to whisper a bombastic speech in lieu of their usual pillow-talk.

Before Marluxia, it would have been easy to make the choice. After all, Zexion’s loyalties have been with the Organization long before his unlife as a Nobody.

And still… he’d grown so disillusioned with the ideas of his associates and the Superior’s apparent secrets. He, too, knew something far more sinister was roiling beneath the surface of it all. It was as pungent as the smell of death on a carcass, and there was no denying it.

So, in a move he would have never expected from himself… he sided with Marluxia.

Their briefings became laced with confidentialities. In no time at all, Zexion had made up with Vexen and won the Chilly Academic’s trust again. He had become a double-agent within this sector of the Organization.

Neither he nor Marluxia realized that Axel had also been a double-agent. That was one of their fatal oversights.

Their time together had grown chaste after Riku and Sora arrived. For every possible string there was to manipulate, Zexion pulled and yanked and struggled… but when the castle shook, he knew there was nothing left he could do. Of course Marluxia would never give up so easily. Of course he wouldn’t endanger the Cloaked Schemer by asking for help.

In a long moment of numbness, he stood alone in the dark. His sanctuary had all but come to pieces around him, like the greedy tendrils of winter dragging life away from a landscape.

Something told him to go looking for the herbiary. He found it easily, and took it down to the hidden library where he’d found it. Standing before the shelf, he rubbed his thumbs across the cover. He was standing upright, but it felt like every part of him had shattered.

He wished the castle would take away that darling memory of Marluxia’s smile as he held the tome. At the same time, he clung so desperately to it he thought it would melt in his head.

Zexion took a deep breath, and the rush of roses met his nose. His chest thudded, and with a start he realized Marluxia’s scent had transplanted onto the book. Cracking it open, he let the lovely aroma of musty pages and sweet roses greet him.

That was right. Marluxia had a rose garden to plant, and now, Zexion had a book to return. One last mission… no, one last scheme, and he’d be free to join XI on the other side.

With the utmost care, he slid the book back into its home on the shelf and vowed to find it again someday. He summoned a portal and returned to the top, unconsciously wiping away tears he didn’t know were possible to cry.

There were no dreams.

Just the cold nothing of darkness.

When Ienzo awoke, his body was hot and cold all at the same time. He could barely make out the lab floor through blurred vision. Distanly, he sensed the stirrings of Dilan, Aelus, and Even. He could hear Lea’s voice, muffled but present, as he struggled to move. They’d come back right where they’d fallen, as if their unlife had been one long and strange dream. Sharply, Ienzo found himself inhaling through his nose--

But it was normal. No overabundance of scents, no need to focus through the haze… it was just a breath. The breath of a Somebody.

Hope swelled in him, intense and full. If they made it… then maybe… just maybe…

But weeks later, when Ienzo saw the picture Sora took of Marluxia, he knew it wasn’t the Marluxia he loved. It wasn’t the azure eyes that comforted him, or the smell of roses that sent his skin buzzing, or the smile that made living in that castle worth every hideous second.

It was a stranger. The cheated husk that served its time and deserved its host was nowhere to be found. The Xehanorts had stripped or stifled that part of Marluxia to further their plans.

It haunted him, curling inside like a poppy wrapped in the night. Dreamless sleep turned into waking nightmares that were doused with labwork and research. The best way he could help XI was to help Sora in whatever ways he could. It comforted him to know the Seven of Light would be on his side, and that their victory would mean redemption for the remnants of the Organization XIII he knew.

Still, he tossed and turned. Mistakenly reread sentences in books. Fiddled with empty beakers. Let the nausea purge him. Mistakenly reread sentences. Fiddled with empty beakers. Inch by rueful inch, time crawled past.

After one particularly long and sleepless night, he called Sora. He was surprised when the young man picked up, wide awake and happy to hear from him. It seemed like Sora’s energy was limitless, as he hardly needed but more than a couple catnaps during the day to sustain himself. It somewhat disturbed Zexion, yet also piqued his scientific interest. Still, he had more pressing matters on the mind then.

“Please Sora,” he begged, “Please save Marluxia.”

He knew it would eventually come to blows for them, and the only outcome would be for Marluxia to be reborn… but it comforted Ienzo to hear Sora promise him. Even after all the evil XI wrought, even after all the pain he caused, Sora still smiled and promised.

The Keyblader told Ienzo, “I know what it’s like to want to save someone you love.”

He had to say thanks and hang up before the younger man saw his tears. Sora’s kindness truly knew no limits, and for that he was eternally grateful.

No one in the lab realized how close to the apocalypse they’d been until Riku arrived one morning with the terrifying news. His face was grave as he told them about Sora. The resulting Somebodies that should have been left over from Organization XIII were nowhere to be found.

And oh, how Ienzo almost craved to be a Nobody again. Perhaps then the sheer pain of heartache could have been muted that way. But his memories from before, his misery and love and fear and terror, all mixed in with his mortal mind. It came crashing over him like a rockslide beating his body to dust, or the way the waves rip into the earth to make sand, or the way lighting takes life in a single flash.

When he was a nobody, emotion was like the full pain of a toothache throbbing in your skull: it was impossible to ignore, and it was there, and you tried to distract yourself from it by pretending it wasn’t. Now, all of that emotion flooded into him, unhinged and ceaseless.

Weeks passed. Months. There was nothing.

So Ienzo cried and cried, for what was and what could have been—and most of all—what would never be.

The next time Riku came to visit, he brought Aqua with him. Cheerily, she presented a surprised Ienzo the herbiary from so long ago. She wouldn’t answer his questions. Instead, she chose to reassure him that she had an inkling of where it belonged, and insisted he keep it.

Distantly, oh so distantly, he swore he could still sense that sweet fragrance clinging to the pages.

In the spring, he planted a rose bush that bloomed full and plump early into the season. 

Now part of his daily routine, he tended those roses religiously with each one of Marluxia’s instructions in his mind. He made sure the soil was loamy and loose. Checked the acidity like clockwork. Calculated the perfect amount of water to hydrate them with. Pruned them diligently, and kept snippings of the flowers inside. If a rose died, he let himself mourn it, though never for very long. Every single day, before any lab work was to be done, he was out there with those blooming buds. If the permeating scent of roses bothered the others, they never made it known.

One day, he went to tend the roses and found a figure stooped close to the petals. Many visitors had come to marvel at the flowers in the past. Unfortunately, some would even pluck the blooms much to his aggravation. However, he didn’t recognize this person… at least, not a first.

It must have been a phantom. Perhaps a trick of the light. He blinked, rubbed his eyes. Blinked again. Dropped his gardening tools. Didn’t notice the watering can splashing water on his legs. Felt the tears in his throat. His knees wobbled. He choked on the name—but was almost glad, since he knew it wouldn’t have been the right one then.

“They’re beautiful,” The figure said, turning to meet Ienzo’s gaze with eyes the color of forget-me-nots. After all this time, the man finally had the words: “I missed you.”

And then, just like how the first blooms of the season bring the scent of spring… everything was as it should be.

* * *

_Exeunt._

* * *

A/N: After the ending of this fic I can picture a cheesy montage of pictures where Lauriam and Ienzo take selfies, go on dates, garden together, read together, cut the ribbon for a flower shop, leave flowers maybe at Steriliza’s grave, then LAURIAM SLIDES A RINGBOX ACROSS THE TABLE AT DINNER, AND THEN THEY’RE GETTING MARRIED IN TASTEFUL SUITS WITH ROSE BOUTONNIERES AS PEOPLE TOSS FLOWER PETALS AT THEM (*insert fangirl screaming here*)

However, my talents lie in crafting words, not illustrations, so you’ll just have to picture it along with me.

After finishing Kingdom Hearts III, it surprised me that first fic I wanted to write was MaruZeku instead of SoRoku. Maybe it was because I tried to jam all of the games into a sleepless, two-week stint, so Chain of Memories was pretty fresh in my mind. At this point, I’m pretty sure I’m cursed to exclusively write romance stories for weirdly niche OTPs. Anyway, I’ve been working on this one on and off for seven months now. My plan was to publish it on 6/11 (MaruZeku day), but I totally forgot! I also didn’t want to wait until 11/6 to publish it either. So here it is!

_References and Inspirations:_

  * __Swing Life Away by Rise Against__


  * __Lemony Snicket’s “rereading sentences” from the first Series of Unfortunate Events book__

* * *




**Some News:**

I’m going to start updating my dA again with some bite-sized fics and drabbles. Possibly tumblr too. Ones that I really like will go on AO3 and FFnet! I’m also planning on starting a series of writing advice so I can start giving back to a community that’s given me so much. Links to that on my tumblr and dA! Finally, I am now taking fanfic suggestions, so please drop a message in my ask box on tumblr! 

**FOR MY READERS WILLING TO COMMENT:**

I have a few questions for you, if you’re willing to help me out. I played around a lot with repetition and metaphor this time around. Did you notice the consistent thread, and how did you like it? Did it feel natural or forced? Did it flow nice? Where there some subtleties you picked up on, or didn’t quite understand? I would appreciate your critique so I may take it into future fics!

**-+-**

**Thanks for your help! Please please PLEASE favorite, review, send kudos, add bookmarks… anything!**


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